The Fifth Marauder
by wavyally
Summary: "Do you believe in fate? Because I think that sometimes it does a funny thing and gives you the exact thing you didn't even know you needed. Sure, some of us will survive this, maybe some of us won't. But, no matter what, I won't ever forget the things we did, and I hope you'll tell the story of us one day." JP/LE SB/OC Marauders first year through Harry's last.
1. Where Endings Become Beginnings

**_-Chapter One- Where Endings Become Beginnings_**

A wonderland had come overnight, the brilliance of it nearly blinding little Holland Helprin. She had woken early in the morning giddy with eagerness for what she knew was to come; her birthday, and the only gift she wanted waited for her outside.

Holland ran out her room to find her mother Helen, but Helen had already been waiting; she knelt before Holland, her arms open and kissed her cheeks tenderly.

"Happy birthday," Helen whispered; like a secret.

Holland grinned at her mother then took her hand, racing down the dark hallways of their home. Holland was panting with laughter as the door to the outside came in sight; she was so _eager_ and the door was _so_ close. The feel of the chilled doorknob was a welcome shock to Holland's outstretched hand and as she swung the door open, a gust of freezing air swarmed inside. Holland marveled at the sight before her, the spectacle that it was. She could have stared all day at its untouched beauty had it not been for her mother's gentle hand guiding her out.

"Go on," Holland could hear the smile in her mother's voice, if such a thing was possible, but she knew it was there. "Go, Holland, _go_!"

Then Holland was off, running and screaming, leaving little footprints and a smiling Helen, whose smile soon began to fade, but Holland did not notice. Holland was kicking at the ground and completely happy.

Snow.

Snow was her favorite thing in the world and she had gotten it for her birthday.

…

Helen Helprin watched her girl run in the snow, her childish laughter ringing in the air, making the snowflakes dance and Helen's heart warm. Holland's arms were outstretched to the still falling snow and the two seemed to spin like a waltz. Perhaps they were, the snow and Holland, but Helen had no heart to grab her daughter away. The act was so innocent, so pure in nature; just a girl dancing with the snow, but Helen knew differently, despite herself. Holland was different. The snow only danced because Holland unknowingly told it to do so.

In spite of her daughter's… well, Helen didn't know quite know what to say. _Unusuality_. That's it. That's what Helen would say. In spite of her daughter's _unusuality_, to see the things she could do was mesmerizing, like watching the snow glide around Holland in a bewitching dance was incredible, but the world would not agree. Holland's father did not agree.

Helen's chest suddenly felt heavy and clogged. She clutched at her throat and violently coughed. She coughed again, then again, then once more, and now her hand was coated in blood.

"Mommy!"

Helen snapped her eyes back to her daughter, startled and hoping she had not seen.

"Come play, Mommy!"

Helen's lips quivered into a smile. She wiped her hand on her dark pants, took a shuddering, painful breath, then started to her girl.

…

Holland squealed as her mother lunged at her, toppling them both to the snow covered ground. Holland squirmed as her mother tickled at her neck and sides, their laughter melting into one mellifluous sound; constant and never ending.

Her mother rolled over onto her back then stretched her arms above her head. "Do what I do," her mother said as she waved her arms and legs in a wide motion.

Holland copied and the cold felt glorious. It seeped into her clothes and the feel of it almost tickled. "Snow angels, Mommy! We're making snow angels!"

Her mother's dark hair was pooled around her head and she turned her face to the side to look at Holland. She smiled Holland thought for the bagillionth time in her life that mommy was the prettiest lady in the whole wide world. And Holland hadn't even seen any of it! She just knew mommy was.

Mommy's hand came to Holland's face and she gently moved away the hair that fell into her eyes, the same color hair her mother had. Her mother's thumb stroked the side of Holland's face, then down her nose, tapping it with a small smile. "I love you, my snow angel, beyond forever."

"I know that, Mommy," Holland rolled her eyes with mirth. "You tell me everyday!"

Holland missed it, but Helen's smile faltered, like she had been suddenly stabbed. To Helen, maybe she had been because Holland did not know that Helen would not be able to tell her how much she loved her girl every day. Being able to do so was coming to harrowing end.

Helen stood, helped Holland to her feet and pointed at the two snow angels. One was vastly bigger than the other, and Helen wished there was magic to freeze this moment in time.

"It's us, Mommy," Holland pointed. Holland bent down and drew two stick figure hands holding hands. "Together forever."

Holland looked up at her mother with the widest smile then ran off into the snow, laughing.

…

Helen Helprin died two days later. For Holland's tenth birthday she got snow and death. Dorota, the live in nurse, cared for Helen as much as she could until her efforts would not be enough to prevent the inevitable. Helen laid on her deathbed, labored breaths and all, but the faintest of smiles graced her still beautiful face.

"Don't you fret now, my girl," Helen whispered to Holland, who was curled up to her mother's side like she once did as a child. "Death is but the next great adventure."  
Holland almost laughed. Almost. Her mother had read the muggle story Peter Pan to her countless of times, and if Holland had not been so sad that their adventures together would now end, she would had giggled.

Holland's father, a very serious man with a stern face, stood in the corner of the room. His lurking presence shuddering and mysterious. His constant scowl grew deeper, the lines etched on his face made him look angry, scarier.

Holland turned back to her mother. "Will we ever see each other again?" Holland sniffled, trying her best not to cry- especially in front of her father who detested her tears. But, Holland did not understand what was happening to her mommy. She didn't _want_ to understand.  
Helen ran her hand through Holland's dark hair that were very much like her own. "I will never be far away, my girl, because the ones we love most never truly leave us. I'll be right here," Helen put her over Holland's chest where her heart was, "You have to believe in it, too. Your heart is a gift." Helen's breathing grew more labored, they were shallow and quick, but Helen never diverted her eyes from Holland. "This is where we say goodbye, my girl."

Holland shook her head adamantly. "No! You can't leave me! Please, don't!" Holland cried and cried but her tears would not be enough to cure her mother. "Please, Mommy, please!"

Dorota gently wrapped her arms around Holland's shaking figure and lifted her away from her her mother. Holland looked desperately to her mother, doing her very best to memorize every detail of her face. Helen smiled sadly, her own tears spilling over and that was the last time Holland ever saw her mother.

Holland leapt out of Dorota's arms, but the door to her mother's room had been charmed shut. She clawed at the wood and screamed. She screamed for her mother, and sobbed so violently Holland became dizzy.

Dorota did her best to soothe away the pain, she held Holland's shaking form and whispered kind things to her. Dorota said, "You're going to be okay, I promise. I'll stay with you, I'll take care of you."

Holland wanted to believe that.

Her father stormed out of the room then. He took one look at Holland then apparated away.

…

The next day, Helen had been put into the ground where she would now always remain. Dorota handed Alyssa sunflowers, her mother's favorite, and laid them against the stone underneath her mother's favorite tree, a willow atop a hill, that overlooked the frozen sea. They stayed there for what seemed like hours, Holland waiting and hoping for her father to join them; to help ease the pain of losing her mother. She hoped they'd grieve together, but her father never came.  
One of the house elves came solemnly, his head bowed. "Mr. Helprin is a very busy man. He has work to attend to and sends his apologies and condolences."  
"Are _you_ sorry he couldn't come or is _he_?" Holland snapped.  
"Holland!" Dorota hissed, "Mind your tongue!"  
Holland didn't mean to come across angry at the elf, she just couldn't escape her growing loneliness. Dinner that night seemed out of place and unreal, the place where her mother sat all too empty. Holland found herself staring at her father, silently begging him to say something.  
And then he did. "You have your mother's hair. And her eyes." He said quietly. With one final passing look between Holland and the place where her mother once sat, he left the dining room in a great hurry.

Holland sighed and put her head in her palm. This is how she would spend the rest of her days, silent, awkward meals and no interaction with her father and always missing her mother. But as Holland grew, so did her curiosity and lust for adventure, only to find that it had never really begun.


	2. The Sorting Hat

Chapter Two- The Sorting Hat

**-Two Years and Eight Months Later-**

Holland stared out to the sea from the window seat in her bedroom. The day was warm and shining, not a cloud in the sky, and the crashing waves looked devilishly tempting. She didn't move to go and play in the water, though. Her father wouldn't let her. Not anymore. Holland heard a knock on her door, but she didn't move. Instead, she closed her eyes and pretended she could feel the sand beneath her feet.

"Holland." It was Dorota, her Russian accent soft and gentle and even cheery as she spoke, "A letter came for you today."

Holland sat up with a sudden burst of excitement. She'd been waiting for this day for the past year, and finally, her Hogwarts letter had come. Holland was careful not to tear the paper too terribly, but she couldn't contain her joy as she read the letter. She looked up at Dorota, grinned, then spun in a circle. "Yes!" Holland exclaimed, "Yes! Yes! Yes!"  
Later that night, dinner with her father held the same consistent rhythm of clinking forks on plates, their own language in conversation.

Holland cleared her throat. "Father?"  
Marcus Helprin hummed in response, eyes not moving from his very important work.

"I got my Hogwarts letter today," Holland said in a small voice.  
"Excellent. You'll make wonderful peers in Slytherin."

Holland nodded her head. She knew better than to argue her father. He had a strong hand.

"I'll have Dorota take you to collect all of your materials," her father said as he rose from the table. "I have an event to attend. Dorota," He addressed, "You will sort out the rest of this."

"Yes, Mr. Helprin," Dorota said as she collected the empty plates.

"Father?" Holland called out, suddenly.

Marcus slowly turned to her. "Yes?"

"Why am I not allowed to go with you?" Holland said boldly. "You always say how many children you meet that are my age." Holland fiddled with her fingers. "Would I be able to come with you?"

"We've been over this Holland," Marcus huffed. "It is no place for you." Marcus left in a great hurry before she could ask anymore questions. She watched him disappear through the same doors he always came and went through and she wondered why he always seemed so distant. Had she done something to offend him? Did she disobey one of his many rules?  
"Come, Holland," Dorota beckoned, "Let's get you up to bed. Tomorrow we shop, yes?"  
Holland nodded though her thoughts still remained consumed with her father and the always empty presence he left.

…

The first thing Holland noticed when she entered Ollivander's Wand Shop was the towering piles of boxes. She wondered how Ollivander had the time to make so many wands.  
"Hello," Ollivander stood behind the desk, "and who might you be?"

"Holland Helprin."

Holland but her lip to keep from giggling or smiling too wide. Ollivander looked funny. He had crazy white hair that went into every direction away from his head and a smile that could have fooled Holland that it was Christmas. There was a glint to the old man's eyes. He was odd, yes, but there was something there, hiding, just underneath the surface. It was such a thing that Holland could not say, but he seemed to be in on the greatest secret and the whole world was laughing.

Ollivander began piling more boxes in front of her, and eyed her as he opened the first. "11 inches, aspen wood,and dragon heartstring core," Ollivander said as he handed Holland the wand.

She held the cold wood in her hand. Nothing had happened. "Is that it?" Holland asked, looking up at Ollivander, but he was already handing her another.

"10 inches, laurel wood, unicorn hair," Ollivander put the wand in her hand as he took the other, but the instant the wand touched her hand the tip crackled and and the wand seemed to begin to split.

"Absolutely not!" Ollivander snatched the wand from her hand instantly. He looked at the cracked wand in astonishment then back to Holland. "I wonder," he whispered, "I wonder."

Ollivander disappeared, then. Holland looked back at Dorota who only shrugged then pointed back to Ollivander, who was in deep thought.

Ollivander mumbled incoherently before handing Holland the wand. "11 inches, holly, phoenix core," Ollivander said, softly but eager as he placed the wand in Holland's hand.

Holland was instantly overwhelmed with a burning sensation, like a fire was chasing up her arm and into bones. The heat was _suffocating_. Ollivander had disappeared from sight, and the wand shop had now been replaced by flames. The flames were as tall he. What was happening? Holland was burning! Why was no one helping her? Where had this fire come from? _Make it stop!_ She wanted to scream. _Please, please make it stop. _Holland tried dropping the wand but it was like it had attached itself to the very skin of her palm. She wasn't sure how much more of this unbearable fire she could take. Holland was in so much pain she started seeing hallucinations in the flames. She saw her mother's face, not the way she looked as she died, but on her ninth birthday as they played in the snow. With the hand not holding the wand, Holland reached into the flames towards her mom.

"It's' okay," Helen said, "Let go, Holly. _Let go_."

Holland didn't want to take her eyes away from her mom, but this had to end; whatever this was. Holland stretched her clenched fingers that held the wood as much as she could, willing herself to drop the wand. She felt herself beginning to scream, building up in her chest and in her violently crawling its way up her throat. Holland looked back at the flames to her mother, then it all ended. The flames disappeared, her mother too.

The wand clattered to the ground, and Holland backed into the wall, catching her breath.

"What _was_ that?" Holland shouted, tears welling in her eyes as she clutched her right hand to her chest.

Dorota looked at Holland incredulously while Ollivander bent down to grab the wand. Nothing happened to Ollivander while he held the wand like it did to Holland. Why was that? What happened to her? Why were Dorota and Ollivander not as confused and scared as Holland was?

Ollivander inspected the wand and noticed Holland tightly clenching her right hand. "Your wand hand," Ollivander held his hand to her, "Let me see it."

Holland hesitantly placed her shaking hand on his and once he saw the burn mark, and indented line of the wand on her palm, Ollivander's eyes widened. He clenched Holland's hand tightly and she refrained from whimpering in pain.

"Never in my life…" Ollivander shook his head then and put the wand back in its black, unmarked box.

_Odd_, Holland thought. Every box had been marked with the wand's description.

"What just happened to me?" Holland's voice shook as she spoke and she looked to Dorota, searching for answers.

Dorota shook her head. "What do you mean, Holland? You just started screaming and then dropped the wand."

"No," Holland didn't understand, "No, there was fire _everywhere_!"

Ollivander cleared his throat and scratched his chin, still looking at Holland with that inquisitive stare. "Some wands have more intense reactions whether negative or not."  
"So she just had an intense reaction to the wand?" Dorota aksed.

Ollivander nodded. "Some magic is too powerful to understand." Ollivander began excitedly tapping his chin and went to the back of the store, mumbling something about how he should have thought of it sooner.  
Holland sighed heavily. Maybe she as was just overreacting? Ollivander came back; box in hand. "I'd be most curious to see if this one, shall be the it today. 10 and a half inches, vine wood and with phoenix feather core."  
Holland didn't want to hold the wand, but it was inclining towards her hand, like it were reaching for her. Holland rolled the wand around her hands, and instead of flames, she felt cold, chilled like snow. The feeling seeped up her palm and through her arm until she almost wanted to smile. The tip of the wand lit up and Ollivander rose a brow once. "Interesting. Most interesting."

"What kind of wand is this?" Dorota asked.

"A wand made by a druid," Ollivander said, but went behind the counter and did not answer any further questions. "A most peculiar wand choosing, but I get those nearly thrice a day. No need to panic."  
Dorota and Holland shared a look but didn't say anything more. After the grueling process she had just gone through, Holland was elated to finally have a wand of her own, but somehow the more she rolled it around in her hands, the more it seemed like it was coming to know her, too. Holland always knew it was the wand that picked the wizard, and perhaps this once isolated wand knew of Holland's particular solemnness. Perhaps that is why it chose her. They both knew of the same loneliness and detachment somehow.  
"Come, Holland!" Dorota called out for her.

Holland followed Dorota out the store, but as the door closed with a ringing bell, Holland stole one last look. Ollivander was watching her, a scowl on his face then disappeared.

…

Holland was completely smitten. The owl was _beautiful_. It's feathers stuck out in every direction and the bird even seemed mean at first impression. But as she fed it, the owl nuzzled her hand and fluttered its wings. Holland _loved_ it, but Dorota wasn't so sure.

"Screech owls aren't known for their friendliness," Dorota said hesitantly as she stood aways away from Holland and the owl.

"Neither am I," Holland said as she stroked the owl's wings.

Dorota scoffed. "Oh, Holland. Don't say things like that."

Holland turned to look at Dorota, a pout on her lips. Dorota looked from Holland and to the owl and rolled her eyes. "Oh, fine," she finally huffed, "You can have the blasted bird."

Holland grinned and laughed as Dorota cursed in Russian and walked towards the register. "What shall you name it?" Dorota asked as she paid.  
Holland thought about it for a moment, her head tilted to the side as she examined the bird. It was a golden big brown eyes. The owl would act as a messenger of sorts between her and Dorota, who would live at home. Holland remembered a book about Greek mythology she had stolen from her father's library once, and a god named Hermes who was a messenger that passed through hell everyday.  
"Hermes," Holland decided, smiling at her owl.  
Dorota rolled her eyes but didn't pester her.

…

_September 1, 1971_

King's Cross Station was a flurry of people running and train's hooting. Holland had only been to King's Cross twice in her life, but from what she remebered, neither time were nearly as busy as today.

Holland held on tightly to her cart and kept as close to Dorota as she could. Holland paid close attention to the platform signs until the one they looked for finally came into sight. Holland jumped up and down, rocking the cart and causing Hermes to hoot angrily.

"This is it! This is it!" Holland said excitedly to Dorota, but then Holland's smile fell. "Do you think he'll come?" She asked, standing on the tips of her toes, her neck craned to peer over the heads of the passerby's.  
Dorota looked at her watch, sighed, then patted Holland's shoulder sympathetically. "I'm sorry, Holland. I'm sure he'll write, though."  
Holland nodded, still looking for her father's face in a crowd of strangers. "Of course he will."  
Dorota knelt before Holland, a sad smile on her face. "This is where we part for now."  
Holland hugged Dorota tightly, savoring this last moment with her until Christmas. "I'll miss you, Dorota."  
"Yes, me too."

Holland wasn't sure, but it almost sounded like Dorota's voice began to quiver. Dorota kissed both her cheeks then stood. "Before you go," Dorota continued, "this is from your mother."  
Holland looked at Dorota in shock, then took the envelope that had her name on it. She traced over her mother's writing and smiled up at Dorota. "I'll see you soon," Holland grinned.

With a final wave, Holland went through the stone of platform 9 ¾. On the other side students and their families were running about with final goodbyes in the same frenzie as King's Cross. Holland carefully maneuvered her way through the crowd and began towards the train. The gleaming red paint was shining and Holland was mystified. She was sure that she had never seen anything quite as grand as the Hogwarts Express.  
If the outside was this magnificent, that she had to see the inside. Holland minded not to look too long at the families she passed on her way closer to the train, careful not to think of Dorota and especially her mother. She'd simply cry if she did.

Diposting her bags and Hermes, Holland went inside and was instantly met with unsupervised chaos. Holland dodged magical flying airplanes, terribly aimed spells, and other exploding things, but Holland couldn't help but let a laugh joyously. Everything was so daring and free and wild. There were no fathers around to scold anyone for laughing or shouting too loud and Holland absolutely loved it.

Holland was too busy marveling around her she didn't even realize she was walking straight into another person. "I'm sorry," Holland apologized quickly, looking up at to see who she had bumped into.

A boy with curly hair that fell over his face gathered all his fallen books into his arms and stuffed them quickly into his bag. "It's fine," The boy said, voice void and montone.

Holland bent down to grab the last book that had fallen. "Sirius Black? Now that's a name you don't hear every day," she said, chuckling as she handed him the book.

Sirius head snapped up like a whip and he looked at Holland like she had suddenly turned into a Hippogriff.

"Are you serious?" He said in disbelief.

Holland laughed. "No, of course not. That's you."

Sirius gaped and laughed, not in disbelief. His mouth fell open then closed shut repeatedly. Like he had no idea what to say.

"What's your name?" Sirius asked.

"Holland," She said as she excitedly shook his head, eager to make friends, "Holland Helprin."

"Sirius!"

Sirius and Holland both turned to the direction his name had been called. An older girl with wild black hair and Slytherin robes was surrounded by others similarly dressed. They seemed to all be waiting for Sirius.

Sirius gulped as he looked at the group. He readjusted his shoulder strap, eyes still trained on them and said, "Got to go." His voice was small, and he seemed to shrink in size as he prepared to walk towards the waiting group.

"Oh," Holland said, disappointed. "I guess I'll see you around then?"

"Yeah, see yeah," Sirius had said, his back to her.

Holland cracked her fingers nervously. Her father would expect her to be one of them. A Slytherin. Perhaps she would be. But, watching Sirius's retreating back as the group englufed him, Holland suddenly wasn't so sure.

…

Every compartment Holland had checked had been full.

"I've got to get here early next time," She said to herself, growing more frustrated the longer she couldn't find a compartment. Holland went down a few carts further and found the least occupied compartment. There was just one boy who sat by himself and seemed to be her age so she opened the door.  
"Hello," she knocked, "do you mind? I can't seem to find anywhere else."  
The boy, who had shaggy sandy hair and many odd scars, shifted in his seat. He looked around nervously and Holland took that as he wanting to be alone, so she began to exit, holding back the urge to scream.  
"Wait!," He said suddenly, "Come in." He wiped his hands on his pants and held his hand out, "My name is Remus Lupin."  
Holland tried not seem too put off by Remus and shook his hand nonetheless. "Holland Helprin."  
Remus nodded once, a weird half smile on his face. He looked to be in pain. He quickly went to sit back down and the two fell into a an awkward silence, though silence had never bothered Holland. She had plenty experience with it, but Remus's constant shifting eyes made her nervous. But, what was once silence became utter chaos. Holland and Remus jumped as the door to their compartment flew open and a boy came barreling in. Laughing as he did so, followed by another boy, scowling and angry.  
"Oh come on," The boy said as he adjusted his glasses, "I said I was sorry."  
The angry boy raised his wand and pointed it at the other, "You arrogant, good for nothing-"  
"Hey!" Holland interjected, "Don't be rude!"  
"Shut your mouth you insillinet girl!" The boy with a pointed wand argued.  
Remus stood up and glared at the boy. "I think it would be best if you left."  
"Yeah Snape, beat it!" The boy with glasses laughed.  
Holland rolled her eyes. He wasn't doing anything to help their current situation. The Snape boy gave them all one last glare and left with a huff.  
"Thanks for that." The boy said, pushing his falling glasses back up his nose. "You were right fantastic there. I ran into Snape and dropped his books, he shoved me so I tripped him and ran away," the boy extended his hand, "My name's James Potter!"  
"I'm Holland Helprin," Alyssa said hesitantly.  
"I take it Snape's not too taken with you, then?" Remus said as he shook James's hand.

"Absolutely not!" James laughed, then plopped himself down on the seat next to Remus and in front of Holland. "Train's going to be stopping soon. Mind if I stay with you?"

Holland looked at Remus incrediously. This "James" was absoltely mad.

"Guess not," Remus said as he sat back down.

Holland cleared her throat. "So," She said to James, "Have you known Snape long?"

"Ehh," James flicked his robes away from his wrist and checked his watch, "For about, maybe, an hour or so."

Remus turned to James with a confused look, "And he already hates you?"

"I'm just as shocked as you," James said as he stuffed his mouth with a chocolate frog, "People usually like me."

The train jerked suddenly and James stretched his arms and legs lazily. "The train is slowing. We should get up and head towards the front. My dad says it gets really packed in the corridors once the train slows.

James was right. Once the three had stepped out of the compartment, students had already begun to flood the corridor's of the train. The train jerked once more and Holland felt the train come to a complete stop. It took some time, but Holland, Remus, and James finally made it onto the platform. Now, they just had to figure out where to go.

Suddenly, a large, hairy man, the _largest_ man Holland ever seen, started shouting out for, "first years te follow meh to the boats!"

"Guess we're following the large man to the boats," Remus nodded, though unsure, "Seems logical."

James patted Remus on the shoulder. "Could be fun!" James grinned and followed the materialized group of other first years, who all seemed to be just as n=unsure as Holland fet.

The large group if first years came to a stop, a shore in front of them lined with dozens of illuminated boats. "Make sure yeh have fourah to ah boat!" said the large man, who they learned was named Hagrid by one of the other first years. Everyone seemed to move at once, piling into the boats. One boy was having trouble finding a boat until James called him over.

"We have an extra seat!" James shouted out to the boy, who looked relieved. He climbed in and sat with a smile.

"I'm Peter Pettigrew," He introduced.

"Well, Peter," James said, "You've got to be the tallest first year here."

Peter's cheeks reddened slightly as he shrugged, but smiled anyways. The boats then all seemed to push off the shore, and Holland's gut lurched with adrenaline. _She really loved magic._ They floated along until a large castle came into view and there was a collective gasp as the students got their first glimpse of Hogwarts.

It was quite magnificent, Holland thought, not wanting to look away just yet because for the first time, she felt at home.

The first years walked together, tightly and slowly, admiring the hundreds, thousands of moving portraits. A stern woman who wore a pointed hat and a scrutinizing glare stood before the mass of Hogwarts youngest students. "I am Professor McGonagall," she said, her voice authoritative, "and Headmistress here at Hogwarts. Through these doors is the Great Hall where you will dine for every meal and in a few short moments, be sorted into your house." Professor McGonagall's eyes scanned over the crowd, eyes connecting with every student. Holland would be lying if she said she were not intimidated.  
"The Hat's decision is final. There will be no exceptions. Your housemates will become like family and you will do well to represent them and your house in proper manner. With that said, you may earn house points for exceptional behavior, and intelligence, which may win you the house cup at the end of the year. Good luck." Professor McGonagall opened the doors, and as the first years walked in, all eyes- student and teacher alike- were on them.  
Holland kept her eyes forward, but when she looked up she saw the ceiling was see-through, reflecting the sky above. There were stars everywhere, _so_ many stars. Holland had never seen so many in her life. She thought of her mother, then; she had loved the stars. Holland looked over to the Slytherin table and then thought of her father. Holland could either fulfill her father's expectations and fit to the mold of her family, or she wouldn't. Holland had no idea what would happen if she didn't, but when she tried to envision herself in Slytherin robes, she found that perhaps she didn't really want to.  
Professor Mcgonagall cleared her throat, an old raggedy hat beside her sat on a stool. "The Sorting Ceremony will now begin."

She called a few names, two Hufflepuff's and a Ravenclaw until Professor Mcgonagall called out a familiar name.

"Black, Sirius."

The boy Holland had ran into on the train walked up to the stool, his hands balled in to fists. Holland noticed the entire Slytherin table fell to a hush, and she watched curiously, as did the entire Great Hall.

_-Sirius POV-_

The old hat was placed on his head and suddenly there was a voice. "Well," It said, "another Black? I ought to put you with the rest the lot. They're undoubtedly waiting."  
Sirius rolled his eyes. "Whatever," He thought, "But before you do, I have a question. It's been bothering me, you see. How old _are_ you exactly?" Sirius didn't think it was possible, but he swore he could almost hear a chuckle in his mind coming from that raggedy hat.  
"You're not like the other's," The Hat mused. "Perhaps, _not_ Slytherin, eh? I see things, boy, things you couldn't imagine."

"Clearly," Sirius stated, "If you're thinking of putting me anywhere other than Slytherin." But then, Sirius added, relieved and quite rebelliously. "Gryffindor, perhaps. Quite a thought huh? For a Black."

"Do you want to know what _I_ see, boy? Perhaps I do see red and gold in your future."  
Though fear nagged at him like an annoying gnat that looked suspiciously like his mother, Sirius smirked deviously. His mother would _love_ this. Sirius didn't know now but would one day he'd understand that the hat had no affiliation. No prejudices. It didn't care that he was a Black. It had no desire for politics. And so it became that it's decision was final and the hat had chosen Gryffindor. Sirius didn't quite grasp the severity of the moment, but as the table coated in a sea of red flooded over him with open arms and cheers, he didn't see the bewilderment, the disappointment, and the fear, in his family's eyes.

_-End Sirius POV-_

Sirius's sorting had taken an entire three minutes, and when the hat hat shouted Gryffindor, Holland felt hope. Hope that perhaps she too could decide her own fate. She watched as Sirius Black shook hands with his now fellow Gryffindor's and though he was bewildered, he looked ecstatic.

There were was another Ravenclaw and two Slytherin's before Holland's name was called. Professor Mcgonagall called her name and then Holland went up to the stool where the hat that would determine her fate for the next seven years slumped over itself. Once Professor McGonagall placed the hat on her head, there was stillness, a quiet in her mind before another invaded.  
"You doubt my judgment." The Hat said.  
"Only your capability," Holland answered, "You are just a hat."  
"Just a hat," It chuckled to itself. "One's past speaks quite a volume over their future, if they let it." The Hat continued.  
"You speak in riddles," Holland noticed.  
"A riddle," The Hat challenged, "suggests intentional phrasing to require ingenuity in ascertaining its meaning and presented as a game."  
"Is this a game?" Holland questioned.  
"A game implies a winner."  
Holland was stumped. "And what does that mean?"

"It means that no matter where you are sorted there is no winner," The Hat explained. "If you are sorted into Slytherin, you fulfill whatever expectation your lineage expects from you, but it won't be as you expect."

"Than don't sort me into Slytherin," Holland thought simply, though she was also beside herself that she would suggest such a thing but crazed with the wildness of it.

The Hat chuckled. "Perhaps I won't."

When it suddenly spurted out, "GRYFFINDOR!" and the rowdiest bunch in the hall stood to greet her, she couldn't imagine where the hat had gotten the idea to place her here.  
She looked at The Hat, where it now sat on another's head, wondering if they too, were riddled by its tricks.

_-Remus POV-_

Remus Lupin's plan went to shit. He did not come to Hogwarts to make friends. He had zero intention and inclination for it. He only agreed that attending boarding school here was purely for his education; yet now look where he is. He didn't pay much mind to The Hat and the curious way it seeped into his mind and flickered through his thoughts, though, he could nearly feel it; the hat and its sorting. Like a finger flicking through the pages in a book, flick, flick, flick, went his thoughts.  
He could beg, Remus thought. Holland had been put into Gryffindor, and certainly James would be a shoe in, what with his chaotic antics, and Remus was suspecting that in the short amount of time spent with them, they were beginning to feel like friends to him. How absolutely foreign, he thought.

_So_, he would beg. Remus would plead for animosity in any house other than Gryffindor, where his one wish to remain hidden would last as long as a block of ice in summer. "Ravenclaw!" Remus suddenly exclaimed, the thought only now coming to him, "I'm sure I'd excel there."  
"I don't doubt that you would." The Hat said.  
"Okay," Remus wasn't quite sure if that was the end of it or not, so as he was beginning to stand, sure the hat would sort him into Ravenclaw, Remus could hear the last chuckles, genuine chuckles, of the hat seconds before it shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!"

Remus almost fell over in shock. That couldn't be right. He looked over to the table decorated in blue where they sat motionless, and instead, it was the lions painted in red that banged on the table with their forks and their knifes.  
Remus Lupin was absolutely, one hundred percent, sure that he pissed off some god or kicked some puppy to be laughed and pissed on like this.

_-James POV-_

James Potter was about to bust a vein. He had never been this nervous in his entire life. He had never been this sweaty his entire life; and he has never wanted to please his father more in his entire life than he did right now. He couldn't possibly imagine what his father would say if he'd be sorted into any house other than Gryffindor. And, it wasn't just for his father, but James wanted it, too. He wanted to be selfless and brave and all the things Gryffindor stood for, whatever it all meant. James figured that if he'd just get into Gryffindor, he would become brave.  
Professor McGonagall called his name, and barked at him to walk faster. James was nearly about to yell at her to give him a minute, but The Hat was already placed on his head.  
"Quite your whining, boy." The Hat said, then shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!"  
James dropped himself, quite literally, in the seat right next to Holland, flushed and relieved.  
"Oh relax James," Holland pushed a plate of food in front of him, "The Hat hardly touched your head."

_-Peter POV-_

Peter Pettigrew was not brave and he certainly was not smart. He didn't really think he could be as cold and calculative as the Slytherins, and he wasn't quite sure he'd make it as a Hufflepuff. This left him with one burning question, where was he to be sorted? If he was not the embodiment of any house, would Dumbledore finally see his mistake? Would Peter be finally shown as the true squib he believed he was?

Professor Mcgonagall placed The Hat on his head and Peter screwed his eyes shut.

"Squib? Really?" The Hat had said. "You Peter Pettigrew, are _no_ squib."

Peter cracked an eye open and sat slightly straighter. "You're sure?"

"Quite. Now," The Hat said, "Where to put you."

Peter suddenly thought of the roaring lions. He wanted that, for people to shout his name and welcome him with open arms. Who didn't want that? Maybe Peter could be brave, he could do that for himself.

"If you're sure," The Hat seemed to drawl but it still shouted out Gryffindor, and when the table clapped and shouted his name, Peter felt like he could fly.

_-Return to Holland POV-_

Holland was actually really happy that the boy, Peter, who had been in the same boat as she, was sorted in Gryffindor. He sat next to Remus and Holland saw the joy in Peter's eyes. She felt a lot like he did.

More sortings came and went, and once they concluded, an old man, whose beard was white as snow and longer than any piece of hair Holland had ever seen, stepped up to a podium. Holland knew who he was. She'd seen the half moon spectacles and the eyes that have seen a hundred miracles and a thousand disasters behind them. They were always in the paper. You'd be a fool not to know Albus Dumbledore when you saw him.  
"Good evening, students!" Dumbledore's voice boomed through the hall, his voice greater than the name of the hall. "Welcome, to the beginning of another year at Hogwarts. Would you join me and welcome our new Defense Against The Dark Arts teacher, Reginald Flynt."  
A bald headed man, with skin darker than the mahogany wood of the tables, stood and gave one wave of his hand.  
"OH, yes!" A girl who was seated farther down the table said, "he is nice to look at." A few more girls nodded in agreement, their mouths and eyebrows quirked up suggestively.  
"And for more announcements," the headmaster continued, "a reminder for students to remain out of the Forbidden Forest, as it is, well, forbidden, and to stay clear of a new tree planted this year, the Whomping Willow. It is quite dangerous and unforgiving of curious students and staff alike."

From the corner of her eye, Holland saw Remus squirm and stretch the collar of his shirt away from his neck.

"More announcements to come at a future date, but for now," Dumbledore extended his hand to The Hat, "The Hat and its yearly song."  
_"The Hat I am, with lyrics and sprees,  
Of what is to come and what shall be.  
Skies of blue and the sun's warm rays,  
"Good cheer!" and "Good day!" is what I say!  
My only but, and listen quite good,  
Is who will you be, and where have you stood?  
Quick! Quick! We're nearing the tick,  
The game's begun, how will you play?  
Pawns and Knights and Queens and their Kings,_  
_Tell me, have you felt the sting?"_  
There was scattered applause from the students, not understanding The Hat's cryptic message. "That's the most confusing one yet," Holland overheard an older student say to their friend, who nodded in return. Holland looked around, and sure enough, students were murmuring and whispering in hushed voices.  
"What do you reckon it's saying?" James asked in a hushed voice, too.  
"It mentioned Wizard's Chess," Remus said, "Which is obviously a game."  
"Wizard's Chess is a game of war. Strategy." Peter said.  
There was silence. Their world couldn't be on the brink of war, could it? And a game? The Hat had mentioned games in her sorting and in the song, and Holland couldn't help but think that the message sounded very much like a warning.

Once the feast was over, Dumbledore dismissed the students.

"Alright! Alright! Follow me firsties!" A seventh year boy at the beginning of the first year Gryffindor line shouted. He led them up the moving stairs and stopped them in front of a portrait of a lady singing. "This is the entryway to our dormitory. The password is written on the parchment you were given on the way here. You will also find your room assignments, where your belongings await you."  
_Tessera_. That was the word written as the password.  
"Tessera?" James questioned, looking at the parchment in bewilderment.  
"What does that mean?" Peter questioned, his eyes bulging nervously.  
Remus rolled his eyes. "It's Latin for password."  
"Oh," James laughed to himself, "You know, Rem. You would have made an excellent Ravenclaw." James clapped Remus on the shoulder as he passed through the door.  
Remus shook his head and chuckled to himself. "The irony."  
Holland waved to her friends as they parted ways and eventually, once she went up the enchanted stairs that only let girls through, Holland found her room. There were four other girls, running around and unpacking. They all stopped once they saw Holland walk in.  
"The last one!" One girl, with long brown hair and piercing blue eyes exclaimed. "I'm Marlene McKinnon."  
"Holland Helprin," Holland smiled nervously, she had never had any girlfriends before.  
"Alice," A short girl with a black bob extended her hand, and Holland shook it. "Your stuff is on the bed next to the window." Alice pointed out, "Right next to Lily's bed."  
Holland thanked her and walked to her bed where Hermes sat in his cage and hooted at her. Holland opened his cage and stroked his feathers. She walked over to the window and let him out so he could stretch out his wings.  
"Ow!" Holland suddenly heard from the bed next to hers. Holland walked around and bent over, cautiously. "Hello? Are you okay?"  
A red head popped from under the bed, green eyes crinkled together as she smiled, "Oh yeah! I'm fine!" She crawled from under the bed and stood. "You must be Holland!"  
Holland nodded. "Lily, right?"  
"Yup, Lily Evans."  
"Well, Lily Evans, do you always make it a habit to roll around under your bed all the time?"  
"_All_ the time," Lily said nonchalantly, "Cleans the floors real good."  
Holland and Lily laughed and exchanged stories, how they got to Hogwarts what they were most looking forward to. Lily was muggle born. The first one Holland had ever met. And, she wasn't in the slightest hesitant to like her.  
Once all the girls had gone to sleep, Holland went over to sit on the window seat; and she stared out at the dark Hogwarts grounds. Holland thought of her father, what he'd say to her now that she was in Gryffindor. A sure disappointment- a outrage, even. Holland could hear his voice in her mind; see the way his eyes bore into hers, disappointed and empty. Always empty. Holland diverted her gaze from the grounds outside to the letter in her hand and traced over the letters of her name in her mother's writing.  
_My dearest Holly,  
Hogwarts. The next seven years of your life. Dare I say some of your greatest? You have so much to look forward to, love. Don't be afraid to enjoy them. Live so marvelously, so dangerously, so fulfilling that when your time comes, you can't help but swear you lived.  
You're eleven right now, just a child, but by the time your Hogwarts days are done, you'll be grown, a woman of your own. I'm so deeply sorry that I'm not there to witness you grow and experience life. My hope for you is that in my absence you won't be afraid to live. I hope you enjoy everything life has to offer. _

_Just like your childhood favorite, Peter Pan, you are adventurous and carefree. You're eyes are filled with wonder but as your mother, I have to tell you that there will be things in life that will try to dim the light in your eyes. The world won't be so colorful. But, I will tell you what Peter Pan could never quite figure for himself: the __**real**_ _adventure is the one where you let yourself grow up and become who you really are. _

_Make friends, the forever kind. Fall in love, it'll break your heart; but if you're lucky, if you are the luckiest girl in the world, that heart will mend and you'll love again, and again, and again. When life gets particularly rough, and you've been beaten, you've been bruised, may you find the courage and the strength within you to get up on your feet. It's always been there. Always will be. But when you can't, just look up. You'll always find me in the stars.  
All the love in my heart,  
Mom_  
Holland was sure she'd cry as she read her mother's words, but rather, she did the oddest thing. She smiled.

…

"Holland!"  
Holland turned around to see James, Remus, Peter and Sirius running down the stairs, and Holland wondered to herself why Sirius was with them.  
"This is Sirius Black," James puffed out as he jumped off the last step into the common room.  
"He's in our room," Peter continued after James.  
"We've already met," Holland pointed out, but extended her hand anyways. Holland smiled at Sirius, he only nodded his back.

Remus looked down at his watch, "We've really got to get going if we want to make it to our first class."  
"Classes don't start for another twenty minutes," James complained.  
"Well do you know where the Defense Against The Dark Arts class is?" Remus argued.  
"Right you are," James agreed, grabbing a reluctant Peter's elbow and lead the way.

Sirius and Holland lagged behind, her trying to get Sirius to talk more than just the few yes' or no's. "You know, I wasn't supposed to be in Gryffindor either," Holland said.

Sirius looked at Holland in surprise. "What-?"

"I thought I'd be in Slytherin, like you," Holland explained, "But, I don't know, when I saw you get sorted into Gryffindor, I felt like anything was possible, that I could decide what I wanted for myself too."

Sirius gawked for few moments, his mouth opening and closing. He was having a hard time trying to say something but he was saved by Peter. "This our fifth wrong turn," Peter exclaimed, ten minutes later. The halls were crowded with presumably lost first years like themselves. Several older students stood on the brick railings, laughing and pointing at all the first years. Holland rolled her eyes.  
"Lily!" Holland yelled out, having seen her shock of red hair.  
Lily turned and smiled, almost relieved. "Holland!"  
"Have you any idea where the Defense Against The Dark Arts class is?" Holland asked.  
"I actually heard someone say it's right down the corridor. I'm on my there now."  
"Oh, excellent!" Holland said, "Lead the way."  
"You know," Sirius spoke up, much to their surprise, "We should really go exploring so we can see more of the castle. No more of this getting lost nonsense."  
"That's not a half bad idea," James said as he pondered it over, grinning at Sirius.  
Remus rolled his eyes, "That has trouble written all over it."  
"Right in here!" Lily said as she opened the door, Remus still unsure of the exploring plan.  
They all piled in, picking out their seats. Lily waved to Holland, sitting next to her friend from Slytherin though Holland couldn't remember his name. James and Sirius sat together, the latter more open and chatty since Holland had spoken to him. Remus smiled at Holland as he took the seat next to her. Peter took the table on over from James, to the right of Sirius.  
The class quieted as Professor Flynt entered, some girls giggling to themselves. "Good morning, class. Welcome to your very first class of the day. If you are not in Defense Against The Arts first then you are in the wrong place my friend."  
One girl towards got up briskly from the front and bashfully ran out the class.  
Flynt chuckled. "There's always one."  
"Now," he continued, "in your first year of this class, you will be studying what spells each spell means, how to conjure it, and its effects."  
The class went on with Professor Flynt detailing the rest of the years course work, and Holland was growing increasingly bored, but even so, she was having the time of her life. Remus, Peter, Sirius, and James and her were becoming fast friends. After DADA, they went to Herbology, then to Charms, lunch, than to a History of Magic, and ended with Astronomy- Holland's favorite class.  
Classes had long been over, dinner just now ending, and Sirius, with a wicked grin, leaned in close. "How about exploring now, huh?"  
"You can't be serious," Remus deadpanned.  
"It's the first day of school," Holland agreed, "We can't get in trouble now."  
"Oh come on!" James pleaded, "Really quick!"  
Remus and Holland shared a glance, both hesitant to start any trouble.  
"But what if we're seen?" Peter questioned.  
"Yes!" Holland agreed. "What if we're seen, what then, huh?"

James smirked and his eyes crinkled together so tightly and evilly that Holland feared the answer. "Just meet me at the portrait hole twenty before curfew."  
And so, twenty minutes before curfew, they all waited to hear James's marvelous plan.  
"This," James held up a cloak, "Is our answer."  
Remus huffed and rolled his eyes, "A cloak, James?"  
"Yes! A cloak!" James fought back, and as he did so, he wrapped it around himself and his body disappeared.  
"Blimey!" Sirius exclaimed, taking a step back.  
"What the…?" Peter reached out and sure enough, his fingers could feel the soft fabric. "Wicked," Peter smiled.  
"So if anyone comes we can just hide under here!" James said brightly.  
Sirius lead the way out the portrait hole jumping and clapping in his excitement, Holland and the others trailing behind him. Holland watched Sirius curiously. He went from not speaking at all to wanting to break every school rule at once quite quickly.

They ended up walking down a hall Holland thought was vaguely familiar. "Huh," She looked around, "If we take this hall straight down we can get to the Astronomy Tower in record time."  
"See!" Sirius exclaimed. "I told you this would help."  
"Yeah, yeah," Holland rolled her eyes, even though it was a good idea.  
"And if we go up those stairs to the left we'd be at charms," James pointed out.  
"You were right, Sirius." Remus agreed, "We are going to know this castle better than any first year."  
"And if we really wanted to, better than anyone in the entire school!" Peter said excitedly.  
Holland wasn't so sure. "Sure Peter, give or take another seven years."  
The next day, when they needed to get to charms from herbology, they took the staircase that James had pointed out the night before and they had gotten there without a tardy. James smugly winked at Holland.  
Holland thought of her father the days that followed. She was sorted in Gryffindor, a house lacking of the nobility her father thought only existed in Slytherin. She stayed up after curfew, she hid under invisibility cloaks, but never had he said a word.  
Not a letter, not even a howler.


	3. Quidditch Lessons and Inquisitions

Chapter 3: Quidditch Lessons and Inquisitions

Holland walked into Defense Against The Dark Arts, hurrying down the corridor. She stayed up later than she should have the previous night, with two unfinished letters to her father and Dorota. She dropped her bag down by her seat next to Remus, as was becoming tradition in DADA, and huffed as she collected herself.

"Late start?" Remus smirked at her disheveled look and Holland rolled her eyes.

"You could say that," Holland mumbled, still thinking about the letters.

Sirius leaned his seat back against Holland and Remus's desk and passed her a muffin, "Saved this for you. Figured you'd be hungry." Holland hardly thanked him as she engulfed the muffin, not realizing how hungry she was.

"What are these?" James asked as his hand inched towards Holland's notebook where her unfinished letters were poking out. She slapped his hand away and quickly muttered that it was nothing.

Peter look to Holland sympathetically and Holland smiled softly. He knew. Peter knew she wasn't really okay and somehow, that made her feel a little better.

"Welcome Class!" Professor Flynt walked to the font of the room, and Holland had a welcome to distraction.

…

After classes, Holland, Remus, Peter, and Sirius were in the common room trying, in vain, to look over at Remus's DADA homework when James came barreling in through the portrait hole, smiling like he just heard the greatest news in the world.

To James, he did.

"Guys, guys, guys!" James sat in front of the group of friends, out of breath and grinning, "guess what I've just heard!"

"What?" Remus said, not looking up from the parchment he was writing on.

"The first years are taking quidditch lessons tomorrow! Peter?" James asked the squirming boy, "Everything all right?"

Peter nodded, "Yeah," he waved off, trying to be convincing.

"You're a terrible liar, mate." Sirius clapped Peter's shoulder.

"I've just never flown before," Peter mumbled, embarrassed.

"Me neither," Holland said to Peter, relieved. "I thought I was the only one."

Sirius tilted his head, looking at Holland curiously. "You're a pureblood and you've never flown a broom before? Not even a starter broom?"

Holland cracked her knuckles, growing nervous. "I always wanted to, but my father doesn't like to be disturbed from his work, so I was never allowed to ride one."

Sirius squinted his eyes and shook his head. "That makes no sense."

Holland gritted her teeth and was about to say that she didn't understand either, because she didn't, but Peter had asked, "Will we be flying _tomorrow_?"

"I sure hope so!" James said excitedly, then began sharing everything he knew about the quidditch lessons. How Madam Hooch would teach them the rules and eventually how to fly a broom. "But I'm already a master," James boasted, "I don't need to learn how to fly."

…

"Just tell me!" James urged for the umpteenth time. A group of first years were walking down to the quidditch field and Holland came to him, jumpy, nervous, and muttering something James couldn't quite decipher.

"I'mscared," Holland spluttered out, hushed and eyes darting around, worried the others had heard her.

"Pardon?"

Holland sighed. "Please don't make me say it again."

James saw how embarrassed Holland was and threw his arm around her shoulder. "Don't worry," he smiled, "It'll be great! We won't be flying up too high so if you fall you'll won't break too many bones!"

Holland shoved him. "That's very comforting James, thank you."

James laughed. "Don't be bitter, Holland, I'm only joking. I'll be right behind you the whole time if that will make you feel better."

Holland nodded, smiling at the ground at the nickname James had given her. She'd never had one before. This was a difficult thing for her, asking for help. Father always said that it was weak and weakness was imperfection, and that cannot do.

"You okay?" Sirius asked, coming up next to her.

"Yeah," Holland brushed off with a smile, "I was just telling James about how we should go for another 'adventure' soon. Hogwarts is quite massive," Holland smirked, her eyes squinting with mischief.

"Excellent idea!" Sirius exclaimed, and threw his arm around Remus, who was shaking his head. "What do you say, Rem?"

Remus vigorously shook his head. "No. Absolutely not."

"Oh come on!" Sirius whined, "You can't say you're not in the slightest interested in exploring."

"You could even find a way to get to potions quicker!" Peter urged.

"Pete gets it," James smirked at Remus.

Remus sighed and rolled his eyes, but he couldn't fight his growing smile.

"Yes!" Sirius yelled and rose his arms in triumph as Remus reluctantly shook his head.

Remus shoved him. "Sod off. Why does it feel like I've just sold my soul?"

"Because most likely you have," Holland laughed.

The five friends lined up with the other first years, brooms lining in front of them. Madam hooch stood before them and eyed them all. "Today we will go right into our flying lessons," She began.

"What?" Holland exclaimed under her breath, shooting daggers at James. "I thought we were just learning the basics today!"

"You'll do fine," James whispered back, ignoring Madam Hooch's brief lesson.

Holland began hopping on the tips of her toes, her nerves getting the best of her.

"Nervous?" Sirius teased.

"Shut up," Holland shot back, trying to pay attention to Madam Hooch, but of course that didn't happen.

"Wait," Peter interjected, "What did Hooch say?"

Sirius shrugged. "Who cares?"

James peered over the heads of the people in front of them to get a better look at Madam Hooch. He was bouncing eagerly, ready to be in the air. "When do you think she'll shut it and let us start?" James said impatiently.

"Can you two shut up?" Holland snapped, "I have no clue what she's saying."

"I think we're starting," Remus said, looking around.

"What?" Holland exclaimed, "Already?"

"Shut up I can't hear!" Remus hushed.

"Now," Madam Hooch said, "You will place your hand over the broom and say, "up," and you're broom will go to your hand."

"That's it?" Holland questioned, looking down at her broom doubtfully.

James smiled. "That's it."

James, Sirius, two boys from Slytherin, and a Ravenclaw managed to get the broom in their hands the first try. Remus and a Hufflepuff on the second, and Holland and Peter lagging behind.

"Come on," Holland urged and glared at her broom, "_Up_!"

"You're thinking too much about it," Sirius said.

Holland looked at him blankly. He was already holding his broom and made it look like it was the most simple thing in the world.

"What?" Sirius shrugged and Holland just groaned loudly in frustration.

Peter yelled out in excitement as the broom flew into his hand. James clapped Peter on the shoulder and Holland wanted to snap her broom in half. Why can't she just do this simple thing? Her cheeks were burning with embarrassment as everyone was staring at her. She was the only one that hadn't managed it and everyone was waiting on her. Remus and Sirius looked at her curiously. It was like she has never done magic before. Holland was very aware of their stares and growing curiosity, but by some miracle, the broom finally managed to fly into her hand.

"Finally," a Slytherin boy muttered.

Sirius glared at said boy. "Shut it, Avery," Sirius shot back.

"Silence!" Madam Hooch shouted. "Now," she began, eyeing Sirius and Avery carefully, "You will mount your brooms and with an easy kick off, you will start to rise off the ground. I will be observing if any assistance is required."

The moment James had been waiting for was finally here. He eagerly shot up in the air, laughing manically as he did.

"Mr. Potter!" Madam Hooch shouted, "Lower your broom!"

Holland had a feeling James was rolling his eyes in annoyance, but was glad when he came back down to her side.

"It's alright, Holland," James eased, floating right above her head, "Just kick off."

Holland looked up at all the flying first years. They were laughing and chasing each other. They were having fun. What was she so afraid of? Holland kicked off the tips of her toes, and when her broom began to rise the squeal building up in her chest erupted from her mouth. It started as sporadic giggles, but as she rose higher in the air, she couldn't stop laughing.

James was laughing with her, shaking his head. "See?" He spread his arm out. "Isn't this amazing?"

_No_, Holland thought. Amazing didn't even begin to describe this. It was liberating. Holland dove then rose higher and higher, the cool air wiping her hair around her face. Holland didn't think she'd ever get off the broom at this point. What was the point of staying on the ground when she could _fly_? The cooling wind of the nearing fall season was chilling her face and Holland swore the wind spoke to her in some language she once knew. The whipping sounds in her ears sounded familiar yet distant, a part of her, but disconnected.

Holland held her arms apart and started feel herself slip off the broom, knowing she'd fly just fine without it. She was tilting away and then hands were on her arm.

"Easy there," James laughed, eyeing her nervously, "I think you're getting a little too light headed. You almost fell off your broom."

"This is incredible!" Holland laughed as she saw the ground far below, the distance invigorating and daring.

"I can't believe you've never ridden a broom before," Sirius said as he flew up next to her though he smiled.

Holland shrugged, not wanting to talk about all the things her father never let her do.

"What exactly does your father do?" Remus questioned.

Holland was going to answer, but she fell short. She thought for a moment, sure that she could answer, but in full honesty she didn't have any idea. "I don't know," Holland answered, looking straight ahead.

…

_Dorota,_

_Hogwarts is, well, __**magical**__! There are simply no other words to describe. I've even made friends! There's James Potter, he's the funny one. The boy is absolutely mad for quidditch. It's his addiction. We even took flying lessons and he helped me not to be afraid. Why haven't I ever ridden one before? Anyways, Remus Lupin is really smart. I really think he's the smartest one in our year. Sirius Black is another friend I've made, but I suspect he's quite the mischievous one. He never seems to be up to any good. Peter Pettigrew is a bit shy, but he's brilliant in Potions, which is such a bore. Lily Evans is one of my roommates that I've grown quite fond of. Could you send my copy of Beedle and Bard? She's a muggleborn, and has never read the stories of Beedle and Bard, which is absurd to me._

_I do miss you terribly, and your hot chocolate. I can never seem to get it right. One day you'll have to spill your secret._

_Until next time,  
_  
_Holland._

Holland sealed the letter with a smile, but as she looked down to the one addressed to her father she felt wary. She couldn't understand why. He was her father. She should feel nothing but love. There should not be confusion. Deciding she would come back to her father's letter another time, Holland attached Dorota's letter to Hermes's leg and watched him fly away.

…

The Great Hall was buzzing with the normal chatter, students eating their breakfast and preparing for the day, yet Holland was at the receiving end of Remus's glare, he not as cheerful as his classmates.

"Don't look at me like that, you're the one that agreed." Holland said as she buttered her toast, trying to shake his gaze off.

"You're the one who encouraged him! You brought up the idea!" Remus exasperated.

They both looked to their point of conversation. A very excited, and very concentrated Sirius was drawing the third floor of Hogwarts.

"Yeah," Holland nodded, "I take the blame for this one."

"So we'll start here," Sirius pointed to a drawing of a corridor that looked to be on the third floor.

"Sirius, mate, you're incredible at drawing," James praised, surprised at Sirius's skill.

Sirius smirked but ignored the compliment, shrugging it off. "The third floor is larger than the second, which happens to be the only floor we've explored. We need a plan. There are tons of paintings and closet's. We should look through them. You never know where they could lead." He explained.

Holland chuckled. "You're not seriously suggesting secret passages are you?"

Sirius looked up at her, unfazed. "That's exactly what I'm suggesting."

Remus laughed. Rather loudly actually.

"You okay, Rem?" James smiled, clearly amused.

Remus shook his head and rubbed his eyes. "You're mad for believing this is even remotely a good idea. Like Sirius said, the third floor is bigger than anything we've explored thus far. It could take all night. And secret passageways? Come on. We're going to get caught."

"That's why we have the cloak," James whispered, not wanting anyone to hear.

"And do you remember how cramped it was with all five of us underneath it?" Remus argued.

"Disillusionment charms?" Holland offered.

Remus shook his head. "No way. Too advanced. We're only first years that have hardly mastered Wingardium Leviosa. No first year can do the disillusionment charm."

Sirius smirked. "There's always a first time."

Remus rolled his eyes. "You can't be serious."

Sirius blinked. "I am Sirius."

James busted into a fit of laughter, slapping the table as he did. Holland laughed too, remembering she had said the same thing to him on the train. Sirius had already changed so much already from that moment on the train, and Holland was really proud. But, as they laughed loudly, Holland could see glaring Slytherins from the corner of her eye. Holland moved in front of Sirius so he wouldn't see.

….

Holland had a moment alone for the first time since she arrived at Hogwarts. It was a Saturday, and there were no classes and no commitments. James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter had wanted to explore the castle, but after many excuses of catching up on homework, papers, and anything that would get them off her back, Holland sat alone underneath an old willow tree she had found. The tree was in the farthest part of the grounds, where Holland was sure no one would bother her. Holland opened her letter from Dorota, enjoying the silence.

_Dear Holland,_

_I would certainly hope that Hogwarts was magical! And of course you've made friends, I'm not in the slightest surprised. I'm so glad that they're good to you and that you are happy._

_Yes, I know the Potter's and the Black's. Your father talks about them occasionally. Strictly business purposes of course, but not so much the Pettigrew's. However, I've seen a great deal of letters and paperwork come through this house about the Lupin's. I couldn't tell you much about it, though._

_As for the brooms, Mr. Marcus is a very busy man, very important, as you well know. He could not have a proper girl like you flying around on a broom and distracting him. He wanted you putting your attention elsewhere. You will do well to remember that if you can't be good then don't get caught, as Dorota always said._

_I'm sorry about your father, dear. Mr. Marcus was not pleased to learn about your sorting into Gryffindor. He was even told by Mistress Black to request your transfer as she attempted for her son, Sirius, but to no avail. Dumbledore was quite persistent that the hat's decision is final._

_I have no quarrels with your house. You have done no wrong, so please do come back when you can. I miss you as well, dear. And my hot chocolate secret will go to the grave. Mystery is good for you dear- it keeps passion alive._

_Until we meet again,_

_Dorota.  
_  
Holland set down Dorota's letter, and looked out at the lake. Her eyes were warm and her head was throbbing. She rubbed furiously at her eyes. She couldn't understand why she was crying or she was so upset over Dorota's letter.

Holland could hear leaves crunching with the weight of footsteps. Holland looked up to see Professor McGonagall approaching. She rubbed at her eyes and took a deep breath. "Professor," Holland said, looking up at the teacher.

"Ms. Helprin," McGonagall said, surprised at her swollen eyes, "Is everything alright?"

Holland nodded. "Yes, yes," she nodded again, "Of Course, Professor."

Professor McGonagall sat next to Holland, looking at her closely. "Do you wish you were sorted into Slytherin rather than Gryffindor?"

"Professor?" Holland was taken aback, "I don't understand."

Professor McGonagall patted Holland knee. "I know your father, Miss. Helprin," the woman sighed, "and I know the pressure's of familial expectations. You're a pureblood and you're not in Slytherin."

"No." Holland was looking down and cracked her fingers as she spoke, "I'm not."

"And does this bother you?" The older woman asked gently.

Holland shrugged. "I don't know. My father hasn't said anything about me being a Gryffindor. He hasn't written at all."

Professor McGonagall looked up at the sky. She was silent for a moment then looked back down to Holland. "Holland," She said, "You don't choose who your father will be, just as your father didn't choose his and so on and so forth. But, somewhere along the line, one of those fathers did choose. He chose a particular lifestyle and a belief system that he would live by and taught those very principles to his son and his son passed those ideals down to his son, and again so on and so forth. What I'm trying to say is that we don't choose our family, but we do choose who we will become and who we are."

Holland looked up at her professor. "So I can be whoever I want?"

"Absolutely, you can," Professor McGonagall smiled softly.

"Even if that person isn't who people expect me to be? Or want?" Holland questioned.

"What truly matters is if that person is who _you_ want to be, no matter what," Professor McGonagall patted Holland's knee again and stood. "Don't worry, Ms. Helprin. It'll all work itself out."

"Thank you, Professor," Holland said, surprised from the sudden wisdom and the source in which it came from.

McGonagall nodded. "I will see you in class, Ms. Helprin," and then she walked away, leaving Holland underneath the willow tree.

….


End file.
